Heartless
by Cody'sxFavoritexGirl
Summary: "Somewhere far along this road he lost his soul to a woman so heartless". Phil and April go way back. Dating for a long time, they grew apart and April left, leaving Phil to think he'd never see her again. Fast forward a couple of years, and they meet once again as CM Punk and AJ Lee, both having released their WWE dreams. AJ has herself a new man, causing plenty of friction.


**A/N: I do not own CM Punk or AJ Lee. They belong to themselves. This fic was inspired by the song "Heartless", originally written by Kanye West. I hate his version though. The version that inspired me was the version by The Fray. I strongly suggest that you listen to it while reading this fic. The emotional impact will be increased. Thanks, and review.**

**Prologue**

The rain fell in a steady rhythm, drumming off of the sidewalk and colorful umbrellas. Traffic went by, sprays of water flying up from the rotating wheels of the various cars. The sky above was a flat gray, dark clouds hanging low and close to the tops of the skyscrapers. People hurried by on the sidewalks, bumping into each other, on their way to their boring office jobs. People were so predictable here, just like the weather. Most people, anyways.

Among the steady wave of people, one person stood still. He carried no umbrella; his only protection from the rain was the hood of his dark gray hoodie. He tilted his face up to the sky, allowing the rain to strike his skin. It ran down his face like tears, and he closed his hazel eyes, giving himself in to the feeling of the cool water. He opened them after a few moments and looked at the people around him in disgust. They were so stuck up in their designer suits, thinking that not even the weather could touch them. He doubted that any of them even knew the empowering feeling of walking in the rain without being covered by fabric.

The thought of being covered by fabric suddenly seemed undesirable, and so he took ahold of his hood and yanked it back, feeling free as the water struck the top of his head and streamed through his short brown hair. He scratched the scruff on his face as he gazed up at one of the tall buildings. Years of living in Chicago, and he still felt tiny when he stood in the towering shadows of the skyscrapers. He hated feeling small. It took him back to when he was a little boy, and his dad would get drunk off his ass and slap him around. He had been powerless to stop him back then. He had sworn to himself that he would never let anyone control him like that again.

But he had broken his own personal promise, hadn't he?

And that brought him back to the problem at hand. He sighed and leaned up against the brick wall of a grocery store, his hands shoved in his sweatpant pockets. He had sworn that he would never be powerless again, but that hadn't stopped her from sweeping in and stealing his heart, and then breaking it into a million pieces.

But what did it matter now? April had left, and taken all her things with her. He was in pain, but he had been before. He would get over it, just as he had so long ago. Love, a belt, a fist, they were all the same. They all hurt like hell when they came around and hit you.

He supposed that he was just being depressing now, but he didn't really give a shit. He had had a depressing week, after all.

He ran a hand over his head, sending a spray of water behind him. On the very meager positive side, his wrestling career seemed to be about to take off. Paul Heyman, the guy who ran ECW, had called him after April left. Apparently they wanted to give him the break that he had been praying for. It had been one of the happiest moments of his life, shadowed by one of the most heartbreaking.

He started the long walk back to his apartment, cutting through side streets and alley ways. He walked in the shadows, slipping through places in the city that most people didn't dare go. He had always been good at avoiding dangerous situations, though.

Finally, he reached the cracked concrete stairs that led up to the door of his apartment block. He trotted up the staircases to the top of the building, walking up to his door. He rummaged around in the pocket of his sweatpants for his key, and then inserted it into the lock. He opened the door and stepped inside, shutting and bolting it immediately out of habit. He stood there for a moment, half expecting a tiny, bouncy brunette to come flying out of the bedroom, beaming that mega-watt smile of hers.

But no one came, and he sighed softly and headed for his tiny bedroom to change out of his soaked clothes. He opened his closet, careful not to pull the door off of its hinges. He had already had to fix it once.

After donning a clean sweatshirt and another pair of sweatpants because the radiator was broken, he sat on his bed and looked around at his pitiful living conditions. He started imagining what could happen if that Paul Heyman guy saw potential in him, and the first thought that popped into his mind once he got money was that he was going to buy himself a hot meal. He supposed that people would probably make fun of him for that, but whatever. He didn't need a bunch of useless material things to make him happy.

He had had something priceless that had made him happy, but he had blown it.

Sighing, he flopped on his back and stared at the cracked ceiling. He could only hope that things would start to look up, and that his wrestling career would take off. Maybe he would get lucky.

But Phil Brooks was never one to believe in luck.


End file.
